


The master calls a butterfly

by lanyon



Category: The Silmarillion - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eönwë, herald of Manwë, surveys the alliances formed during the Dagor Dagorath and approves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The master calls a butterfly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tevildo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tevildo/gifts).



Alliances formed at the end of the world are unlikely at best.

Eönwë, herald of Manwë, sits at the head of a long, blackened table. His fingertips drum on the table-top. It is silent here, in the ruins of Ilmarin. He is the last to leave. Soon, he will return to Arda Marred, Arda so-marred that it is barely recognisable. The Dagorath rages and he must join with Telimektar and Túrin to bring down the might of Melkor. Manwë himself will take to the field and the Númenoreans will emerge from their forgotten caves and Ar-Pharazôn will atone for his sins.

Battle strategy is nigh-on impossible when one’s enemy is hidden in the cracks of the world. Mandos has sent forth the Quendi to dwell amongst the latter-day mortals, who are oblivious that the world is splintering beneath their feet, in an attempt to stir them into action. There is nothing more inspiring than flashing eyes of the Noldor or the shadowy nature of Sindarin warriors and yet, and yet, the mortals are blind to the beauty amongst them and deaf to the doom that roars and snarls around them.

Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, noble, white arms, like any manner of goddesses who have gone before, stirs the hearts of mortals and Immortals alike. Her loveliness is tempered by steel and a fearsome temper. She rallies the Noldor, she does not sleep; never again will she be imprisoned in the dark places. Never again will she be subjected to the whim of man. She is every bit as fierce as her brothers and only a madman would keep wild Írissë from the hunt.

In the grey corner, the Sindar rally behind their heroic marchwardens. Mablung, of the heavy hand, with his sardonic smile and beloved axe, is a standard-bearer for their cause. He is fearless. Down with darkness, down with corruption! Follow his light, determined step and one might almost believe that there is hope beyond the Dagorath.

For the Finarfinians, peace-loving though they are, is Angrod, stepping out, at last, from the shadows of his brothers. He held Dorthonion with his hands of iron-strength and he observed his brothers’ victories and failures and, on his release from Mandos, he stayed his anger and lead the revolution. Now, he is renowned amongst his brothers.

Every Quendë knows that, with the end of the Dagor Dagorath, comes the end of the world and his own destruction, and yet he fights, and yet he dies.

Eönwë, herald of Manwë, watches all of this and he approves. Loyal servant though he is, he is ruthless. He is the law of the Valar, he commands their armies and, although he is a mighty Maia, second to none of that divine strain, he would kneel before the Quendi and honour them for their bravery (even as he allows their sacrifice, day after day).

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this prompt and couldn't resist the challenge to include all four characters in one fic. Also, the Dagor Dagorath is something of a kink of mine.


End file.
